


When That Time Comes

by tardigrape



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Geraskier Week, M/M, No Spoilers, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22773241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigrape/pseuds/tardigrape
Summary: Geralt needs a new horse. Jaskier needs something else. Geralt can't quite figure out what that is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 374





	When That Time Comes

Roach was old.

Geralt had first noticed when Jaskier stopped complaining about keeping up. Geralt had never set Roach to canter while the bard walked by her side, but her quick, light steps often meant that he had to run every few steps to keep pace. For years Jaskier had grumbled almost nonstop about this, asking repeatedly to ride behind Geralt, as if Geralt would ever let anyone but himself mount his horse.

But the grumbles had stopped, and lately Jaskier had taken to singing heartily as he walked, often strumming his lute as he did so. Geralt couldn’t blame this entirely on the increase in Jaskier’s physical condition from years on the road.

And anyway, Geralt had been through horses before. Horses rarely lived more than 30 years, and needed to be put to pasture long before their legs gave out.

It was Roach’s time.

Geralt and Jaskier made their way toward Oxenfurt, and Geralt told the bard to go on ahead and rent them a room while he attended to some business. Jaskier happily danced away, thrilled, apparently, to be back in the city of his younger days, making plans to call on this person or that one. Geralt rode out to a horse trader beyond the city walls. He negotiated a good price for a young mare with an even temperament, handing over a substantial amount of coin but also Roach. He explained to the trader that she had perhaps a couple more years of work in her for someone less prone to riding through drowner-filled swamps, that she was a reliable, steady mount who would be great for a child learning to ride. He reckoned that would set up her comfortably in her final years. He transferred his saddle, tack, and bags from the old mare to the new one, whom he immediately named Roach, as all his mounts were named. He headed toward Oxenfurt proper with daylight to spare, hopeful of finding a contract before the day’s end, leading Roach by the bridle through the thronged streets.

He found Jaskier leaning against the wall surrounding Oxenfurt Academy, flirting brazenly with a couple of students. Jaskier looked up and nodded to Geralt, then did a double take.

“Geralt,” he called, “whose horse is that? Did you lose Roach in a game of cards or something?”

Geralt snorted and kept walking, but Jaskier trotted after him. “No, Geralt, seriously, what’s with the horse? Where’s Roach?”

“This is Roach,” Geralt responded.

Jaskier scoffed. “Look, I know I don’t have a witcher’s senses, but even I know this isn’t Roach. Look, her blaze is longer, and her mane is lighter. You can’t seriously think this is the same horse?”

“Not the same horse,” Geralt responded. “New horse. New Roach.”

Jaskier stopped walking and spluttered. “New Roach? New Roach? What happened to the old Roach?”

Geralt turned. “I traded her for this one.”

Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to speak again. “You traded her? You gave her away? To some stranger?”

Geralt cocked an eyebrow at him. What had gotten into him? “I didn’t have the coin for a new horse without the trade.”

Jaskier spluttered some more, finally finding his voice. “You take me to this person right now!”

“Jaskier—”

“Right now, Geralt! Or I will find him on my own!”

Geralt shook his head. Something was clearly happening that he didn’t understand, but he also knew he likely wouldn’t hear the end of it if he didn’t give the bard what he wanted. And anyway, there was plenty of daylight left. So he turned around and headed back out of the city, Jaskier trailing behind him.

The horse trader looked puzzled as they approached. “Something wrong with the mare?” he asked, but Jaskier was pushing past him, climbing into the paddock with the horses, making a beeline for Geralt’s old mount. Geralt’s sharpened hearing heard every word he murmured to the animal. “Oh darling, oh beauty, he left you, left you like an old boot, didn’t he? What a cad, what an ass, what a monster, but don’t you worry now, sweet girl, don’t worry, Jaskier’s here, Jaskier will take care of you.” Old Roach nuzzled against Jaskier.

Geralt and the trader watched this exchange with equal bafflement. “What’s going on?” asked the trader.

“I have no idea,” responded Geralt.

Jaskier made his way back to them, avoiding looking at Geralt. Instead, he spoke to the trader. “Does the Pankratz account still have credit here?”

The man nodded. “Of course.”

“Put this mare on it.”

“The old one? Sir, she’s not fit for nobility. I have several fine—”

“This one. The Pankratz account. And if you can throw in a saddle and tack, I’d appreciate it.”

The man looked between Jaskier and Geralt, but Geralt could only shrug. So the trader obliged, and Jaskier buckled an old saddle onto Old Roach’s back, then rode her out of the small paddock, never once looking at Geralt. Geralt swung into his own saddle and rode up next to Jaskier. “If you wanted a horse, we could have gotten you one long ago.”

Jaskier flared his nostrils and stared straight ahead.

“Your mare there won’t be good much longer, that’s why I—”

“She’s not my mare,” Jaskier said. Geralt knit his brows. “And she’s not yours, now, either, so I’d appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself.”

Geralt shrugged and followed Jaskier as they rode back into the city. Jaskier stopped at a stable, paying for a large stall and hay. Geralt did likewise, his bafflement growing, and hurried to catch up with Jaskier, who had seen Old Roach settled and was now stomping toward a tavern.

“Jaskier—”

Jaskier whirled, his eyes blazing. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t even look at me. You know what? I’d rather not look at you, either. Make yourself scarce tonight. I’ll meet you back at the stable in the morning.”

Geralt stood, blinking, and watched as Jaskier kicked open the door to the tavern and disappeared inside. He could, of course, go after him, make him talk, but honestly, given how seldom Jaskier ever _stopped_ talking, Geralt supposed the best thing to do was to just ride this out. Whatever _this_ was. Instead, he went in search of a contract.

A contract, unfortunately, was not to be had. This wasn’t terribly surprising—large concentrations of people had a tendency to drive off common monsters, and he’d have heard if an uncommon one had appeared in the area. With a sigh, Geralt made his way back to the stable. He didn’t dare yet intrude upon the angry bard, and sleeping in a stable was only slightly worse than sleeping in an inn. Thus he crawled into the hay beside his new Roach, who eyed him but continued munching. Geralt settled down, the sweet smell of hay and the warm smell of horse and the faint smells of leather and oil filling his nostrils, and slept.

He was awoken the next morning by someone kicking his foot. “Get up, witcher.” That was Jaskier’s voice, but when had Jaskier ever called him _witcher_? Geralt opened his eyes to see Jaskier glaring down at him, hands on his hips. “Get your horse saddled. Time to go.”

Geralt stood and brushed hay off himself. “Jaskier, what—”

“Five minutes, Geralt. Or I’m leaving without you.”

Sighing, Geralt saddled New Roach—no, _Roach_ , he had one horse and it was always called Roach—and walked her out into the street, where he found Jaskier already leading Old Roach out of town. Geralt followed him, wondering where they were going, and, in fact, why he was letting himself be led. Curiosity, he supposed. This new, angry, take-charge Jaskier was a puzzle, and Geralt wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Outside the city walls, Jaskier swung into his saddle, so Geralt did as well. They rode at an easy pace, Jaskier with a scowl on his lips, Geralt with a half smile. He had found he didn’t mind, so much, letting Jaskier take the lead, even if he still didn’t understand it. Finally, about midday, Geralt broke the silence. “Wanna tell me where we’re going?”

“No.” Jaskier’s face was stony.

Geralt shrugged. So be it.

This angry silence continued for the rest of the day and into the evening. Jaskier dismounted before the sun fully set, so Geralt did too, both of them turning the horses loose to graze. Geralt built a fire while Jaskier picked flowers—wasn’t that typical—then watched with fascination as Jaskier braided the flowers into a crown, which he placed on Old Roach’s head. Jaskier cooed to the mare as he stroked her neck. “He never appreciated you properly, did he? You were just a tool to him, just a means of transportation. He didn’t love you. Well, don’t you fret, my beauty. I love you. You are a truly noble steed, a gallant mount, and anyone would be lucky to ride an animal such as you.” Old Roach whickered and flicked her ears. “Yes, my love, you’ll be cared for all of your days, and you’ll never want for anything, and no one will ever take advantage of you ever again. Your days of being used are behind you.”

Geralt frowned. He had cared more for Roach than nearly any other living being. He had never let anyone touch her lest they treat her with unkindness, and had spoken more words to her than any human. He’d always made sure she had plenty to eat, always covered her with a blanket in the cold, always ensured her shoes were new and fresh, always kept her brushed. He had even done what he could with the trader to ensure she had a peaceful last few years. He glanced back at Jaskier, who was kissing Old Roach’s nose, his forehead bent to touch it.

“I didn’t use her,” Geralt said aloud. “No more than anyone uses a horse.”

Jaskier turned, and the angry blaze was back in his eyes. “Yes you _did_ ,” he insisted. He stepped closer, balling his hands into fists. “You traveled with her for years, leading her repeatedly into danger, and yet she never complained, not once, but did that matter? No.” Geralt took a breath to respond but Jaskier cut him off. “She was loyal to you, she trusted you, she loved you, and you just abandoned her, you just left her, just walked away like she never even existed.” His voice had taken on a quaver. “She spent her whole life with you, followed you to the ends of the world and back, but it wasn’t good enough for you, was it? You don’t care about her, you never cared about her, because you are heartless bastard, an emotionless whoreson, who cares about nothing but coin and killing, who is entirely, completely, utterly incapable of love.” Jaskier’s breath hitched, and tears spilled out of his eyes.

Oh. _Oh_. The entire puzzle became abundantly, appallingly clear. Geralt took a step toward the sobbing bard. “Jaskier.” He kept his voice soft. “I care about Roach.” He took another step. “I care about you.”

“No you don’t. You left. You just left.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said. “I shouldn’t have done that to her. I’m glad you got her back.”

Jaskier stopped crying, his red-rimmed eyes widening. “Oh,” he said softly. “Well, that’s good.” He looked away. “You must think I’m so stupid,” he said, wiping at his eyes.

“No.” Geralt stepped even closer. “I think I am.” Jaskier looked quickly back at him. Geralt continued, “I made you think I would leave you, walk away from you, if you ever inconvenienced me.”

Jaskier’s eyes searched his face. “You wouldn’t?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s tone remained gentle. “You convince people to pay me when they’d rather kill me. You make people think White Wolf instead of Butcher when they see me. You bring in more coin than I do. But mostly…” He tilted Jaskier’s chin up with two fingers. “I like having you around.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed, his eyes growing wide. Then he leaned in and kissed Geralt lightly on the lips.

A fierce, primal desire uncurled in Geralt’s belly, spreading heat through his body, at the touch of Jaskier’s lips on his own. Perhaps Jaskier had meant the kiss as a show of friendship, perhaps this was something he did with many people, but Geralt did not receive affections often or easily. He placed a hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulled him in, pressing his mouth hard against the bard’s, sliding his tongue inside as Jaskier’s lips slipped open. Jaskier melted into him, bringing his hands up to grip Geralt’s shirt, moaning into his mouth, and the hot desire in Geralt’s belly spread to his cock, pushing it against the fabric of his trousers.

Jaskier, always quick and active, his fingers always flitting, was no different while kissing—his hands roved over Geralt’s chest, and one of his feet slid up Geralt’s leg and wrapped around his waist. Jaskier mewed in frustration and gripped Geralt’s shirt, as if disappointed that he wasn’t able to touch the witcher more, so Geralt gave him what he thought he wanted, sliding his hands under Jaskier’s ass and lifting him into the air.

This must have been correct, because Jaskier made a happy, purring sound, nibbling on Geralt’s lip, as he wrapped his other leg around Geralt’s waist and pressed against him. Jaskier’s head was now above Geralt’s, and it was an unusual and pleasant experience for Geralt to tilt his head back to receive Jaskier’s kisses. But it also gave him an opportunity, and he finally released Jaskier’s mouth to nibble at his neck, inhaling the sweet, floral scent of him, sucking at his skin, making Jaskier squirm in his arms.

Geralt felt he could stay like this forever, holding a mewling, squirming Jaskier as he teased out precisely how to wring even more pleasing sounds from him with lips and teeth, but the press of his cock in his trousers was becoming insistent, demanding attention, and the press of Jaskier’s own desire against his belly told him Jaskier was similarly afflicted. So he carefully lowered the bard into the grass, kissing every bit he could reach along the way, then slipped his doublet and shirt up off over his head, leaving his brown hair mussed. Geralt quickly shed his own shirt as Jaskier’s legs around his waist tugged him back down, and he covered the bard’s small body with his own larger one, Jaskier’s fingers pressing into his chest.

Geralt moved his mouth from Jaskier’s neck to his chest, marveling at how so delicate a person could be so completely covered in hair, and flicked his tongue across a nipple, eliciting a gasp from Jaskier, who curled his fingers in Geralt’s hair. Geralt moved lower, his tongue and lips making Jaskier’s belly shudder, until finally he reached the fabric of Jaskier’s trousers. He was tempted nearly beyond control to rip them apart, but Jaskier was so very particular about clothes, so instead he quickly unlaced them. He pulled them down, freeing Jaskier’s cock, and something of the bard’s manners must have rubbed off on Geralt, because the words _magnificent_ and _delectable_ sprang immediately to mind.

But Geralt was used to controlling his urges, holding back from acting, and Jaskier’s trousers were now bunched around his boots, so Geralt slowly began sliding them off, enjoying immensely the sight of the bard, nearly naked, pushing ineffectually at them, his lip between his teeth, his cock dripping small, gleaming drops onto his belly. Geralt slowly slid off the other boot, then Jaskier’s trousers, and then sat back on his heels to simply gaze at Jaskier, naked and panting with need, his skin glowing in the light of the fire.

Geralt’s eyes remained on Jaskier as he stood and unlaced his own trousers, then slowly kicked off each boot, so he saw how Jaskier’s cock bobbed with anticipation, saw how his breath came short and his skin flushed. And then Geralt slid his trousers down and stood, entirely naked, so hard he was throbbing, and Jaskier groaned and wrapped his hand around his own cock, stroking it as he gazed at the witcher.

Geralt sank to his knees, his hand going to his own cock, which was now leaking liberally, the sticky moisture coating him as his hand worked up and down. But his pleasure could wait a bit longer, because his mouth was watering, so he leaned forward, grabbed Jaskier’s wrist, and pulled his hand away from his cock. Then he slid his tongue up, base to tip, then took Jaskier’s cock fully into his mouth.

Jaskier gasped and his hips bucked, his fists catching Geralt’s hair as he thrust into his mouth. Geralt began to suck him with long strokes, his fingers sometimes following his lips and tongue, and Jaskier, as was his wont, filled the night with words.

“Fucking gods, Geralt, if”— _gasp_ —“if I’d known you sucked cock like a two-bit whore, oh rutting fuck, I would have worked harder to tempt you, oh Melitele’s cunt”— _gasp_ —“you are fucking amazing at this, you know that?”

Geralt hummed low and deep in his throat, making Jaskier buck and writhe, and Geralt had to put an arm across his ribs and press his own chest into Jaskier’s legs to keep him in place as he continued his oral ministrations.

“Oh Geralt, fuck, your mouth is so _hot_ I think I’m going to catch fire, I’m going to die, fuck, Geralt, you’re actually killing me, don’t you have any remorse? Oh gods but what a glorious death, what a stupendous end, oh fuck, oh don’t stop, please, oh Geralt, yes…” His breath hissed, sibilant, as the taste of him deepened, and Geralt increased the pressure of his tongue and fingers. He sped his strokes, released his hold on Jaskier’s legs and torso, and hummed once more in the back of his throat. Jaskier’s fists in his hair held his head in place as he thrust hard, and then Jaskier squirted forcefully into Geralt’s mouth, the rich, bitter taste thick on Geralt’s tongue.

Geralt pulled his mouth off Jaskier’s cock, his senses full of the bard, the flushed, gleaming sight of him, the sweaty, sex-drenched smell of him, the sounds of the panting of his breath and quick beat of his heart, the warm, damp, smooth feel of him under Geralt’s body, the heady taste of him on Geralt’s tongue. Geralt left him there, briefly, both to clear his head of the dizzying sensual assault and to dig in his bags for the oil he used in potion-making. He returned to find Jaskier, an arm thrown over his face, his breath still coming short, and his cock still half hard, waiting.

Geralt dabbed oil onto his fingers and knelt between Jaskier’s knees. With his other hand he lifted one of Jaskier’s legs, at which Jaskier moved his arm off his face and looked down at him, then Geralt slid one oiled finger into Jaskier’s ass, and those blue eyes widened and then closed as he lifted his hips.

He was tight, but not tremendously so. Geralt didn’t like to think too hard about the reasons for that, instead pushing in another finger to widen him further. Jaskier moaned and drew his knees to his chest, and Geralt’s hips bucked forward involuntarily at the sight of Jaskier ready and waiting for him. Geralt crooked his fingers, smiling as Jaskier’s cock hardened once more, then drew them out. He dabbed a bit more oil into his palm and then smeared it across his own cock, which was aching for Jaskier, begging to be inside of him.

Geralt leaned against Jaskier and pushed in. Jaskier gasped, his eyes wide, as Geralt let out a long breath, and slid fully into him, pushing until the pinch of Jaskier’s ass sat tight around the base of Geralt’s cock. The assault on his senses redoubled, the sight of Jaskier with his head thrown back, the smell of his renewed arousal, the sound of the gasps that flew from his throat, the lingering taste of him on Geralt’s tongue, and the feel, _oh gods the hot, tight feel of him_ around Geralt’s cock.

Geralt began to thrust, slowly at first, building the rhythm as Jaskier warmed to it, watching in wonder as the bard’s lithe, pink tongue flicked over his lips again and again. The teasing sight and sound of his mouth became too much to bear, so Geralt shifted so that he could lean down and capture that mouth in a kiss. He was surprised and delighted to find that the taste of Jaskier’s mouth had changed, that it had sweetened, and his body tingled with the knowledge that _he had done this to him_. Geralt thrust as hard as he could while keeping his mouth on Jaskier’s, his tongue mimicking the motion of his cock, and Jaskier matched him, taking the witcher in both ends, eating him up, as if he couldn’t get enough.

The feel of Jaskier on his cock, Geralt’s steadily building thrusts into him, would likely have been enough to make Geralt come eventually, but then Jaskier began to make noises, to moan and mew and purr, even while Geralt’s tongue was still in his mouth, and the pure, animal lust of it shot down Geralt’s spine. His thrusts became frantic, and the noises in Jaskier’s throat became louder in response. Jaskier writhed beneath him, making the hard press of his cock into Geralt’s torso known, and Geralt quickly moved a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around it, stroking Jaskier even as he continued to fuck him.

And finally, Geralt had to release Jaskier’s mouth, had to catch his own breath, because all of his senses were completely full of Jaskier, and Jaskier was completely full of him, and his frantic rhythm was pushing him harder, harder, deeper, and he was over the edge, growling as he came, Jaskier’s cock still in his hand.

Oh yes, Jaskier’s cock was still in his hand. Geralt did not pause for breath, did not stop, but continued to pound into Jaskier, because Jaskier’s head was now thrown back, his breath heavy and quick, his cock like granite in Geralt’s hand, and then he, too, came, gasping, his cum coating Geralt’s hand.

Geralt slid out of him and lowered himself next to him, his eyes on Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s eyes opened and he turned his head, and Geralt let him watch as he licked Jaskier’s cum off his fingers, savoring the taste, which had already taken on a new flavor, different from the one he had shot into his mouth only minutes before.

Jaskier wriggled close to Geralt, wrapping an arm and a leg around him, as if he couldn’t bear even a sliver of distance between them. Geralt smiled and pulled him close, draping an arm over his back.

For a long time they simply lay like this, breathing in each other’s scent, the sweat cooling their skin. At long last, Jaskier spoke. “I’m taking her to my parents’. They have a stable and a lot of land. She’ll be happy there, and well cared for.”

“Roach? Good. She’ll like that.” Geralt stroked his thumb over Jaskier’s back.

Jaskier was silent a while. “What will you do, in the end? When I am old?”

Geralt’s grip tightened. “What would you like?”

Jaskier nuzzled his neck. “I would like this. I would like to lie next to you, holding you. I would like to be with you, even then.”

Geralt nodded. “All right.”

“All right? That’s it? No argument?”

“No argument.” Geralt kissed Jaskier’s hair. He tried not to think too hard about the decades after, when Jaskier would be gone and Geralt would have to go on, have to live without him. He almost regretted letting the bard into his life, almost wished he’d never known such sweetness, such goodness, such tenderness. Almost.

Jaskier pulled away slightly, so he could look into Geralt’s eyes. “It will be a long time before I am old. How can you be sure you’ll be there?”

Geralt looked back at Jaskier, glad beyond measure he had let the small human into his heart. “Because you’ll be there, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing for Geraskier Week!
> 
> If you want to keep up with my fic I'm on tubmblr: [thetardigrape](https://thetardigrape.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated!


End file.
